


Blurred Lines

by boonies



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ, JYJ - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficwar prompt: the one where they accidentally get married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurred Lines

*

 

"Pick one."

 

Junsu sighs.

 

"Junsu-yah," Jaejoong whines, cheek smushed against the coffee table, "help us pick."

 

Exhausted, Yoochun lifts his head, sprawled next to Jaejoong on the rug. "We don't know where to go, Junsu-yah, heeeelp, where should we go~"

 

Junsu crosses his arms with a tiny huff. "How about to my musical."

 

Yoochun glances at Jaejoong.

 

Jaejoong glances at Yoochun.

 

After a beat, Yoochun whines, "Junsu-yah, where should we goooo—"

 

Junsu kicks at the coffee table, startling them both. "No, I'm serious, I'm reprising my role, which is actually why I came over in the first place—"

 

Jaejoong rubs at his cheek, offended. "We've already seen your musical."

 

" _I've_ seen it twice," Yoochun points out.

 

"YOU'VE SEEN THE SAME STUPID EPISODE OF NARUTO SEVEN TIMES—" Junsu rants, spreading his arms to the ceiling.

 

"Yeah, he's not gonna help us," Jaejoong tells Yoochun and grabs for a thing of darts scattered across the coffee table.

 

Comprehending, Yoochun sorts through them with a lethargic swat and aims for the globe resting on Jaejoong's mantle.

 

The first dart embeds itself into a wooden sculpture of some naked lady next to the globe.

 

"Yah," Jaejoong complains halfheartedly, grabbing at Yoochun's hair in warning, "that was a gift from... eh..."

 

"...Hyun-joong..." Yoochun supplies with a wince.

 

Jaejoong lets go of his hair. "Yeah, sure, him. It's very special to me."

 

"Clearly."

 

Junsu waves a hand in front of their faces. "Okay, as always, I regret coming here, so can I just go?"

 

"Can you spin the globe for us first," Jaejoong begs, waving him over.

 

"Because we love you~" Yoochun adds sweetly.

 

"Because we love you the most," Jaejoong agrees, equally cloying.

 

Junsu stares for a long moment, then sighs, and drags himself to the mantle.

 

Squinting one eye, Jaejoong raises a lazy hand and aims. "If you don't want a new piercing," he sing-songs, "don't move."

 

Horrified, Junsu spins the globe then bends as far back as possible, index finger gingerly pressed to the tip of the brass meridian.

 

The dart flies into a TV seven feet away.

 

"Yeah..." Junsu says slowly, "I'm gonna go."

 

"No, Junsu-yah," Jaejoong cries out over Yoochun's muffled whine, "pick—"

 

"JUST—UGH—" Junsu snaps and randomly stabs a ringed finger at the globe; cuffs it hard enough to poke a hole through the cardboard, "GO HERE AND DIE."

 

Once Junsu's exited the apartment in a flurry of enraged hissing, and Jaejoong's fished out the broken piece of some poorly-charted map hiding their destination, Yoochun takes a moment to ponder, then gives an acquiescing little shrug.

 

"What's the worst that could happen."

 

*

 

"Yoochunnie, I'm starting to regret this."

 

Yoochun grins, backpack slung over one shoulder.

 

A decrepit four-seater plane is sitting beyond a large scratched bay window. The plexiglass is greasy in spots, but Yoochun can still see peeling banners decorating this, their forth and final layover. The logos on the hangars are unfamiliar and Yoochun briefly worries about stumbling upon some terrorist organization but then the plane rolls out, engine stalling and sputtering.

 

...it seems to be made of macaroni.

 

Seriously, the plane looks like it's being held together by nothing but tape and its pilot's willpower.

 

Yoochun sits down.

 

Yeah.

 

They're gonna die.

 

"Well," he reasons valiantly, "you... wanted an adventure."

 

Jaejoong presses himself against the gross window, staring at the narrow stretch of runway. "I wanted a _vacation_." He turns his head, traumatized. "Chun-ah, no, I haven't written a will or climbed Fuji-san or—"

 

The plane _honks_ , startling Yoochun out of his creaky seat.

 

"It's just a twenty minute flight," he says, mostly to himself, voice faltering. "We'll be fine."

 

From the cockpit, the pilot waves what appears to be an impatient hook hand and honks again.

 

Jaejoong panics. "Yoochun—!"

 

Yoochun's the one that should be freaking out, on account of his debilitating fear of heights, but he manages a brave little grin and pats Jaejoong's shoulder.

 

" _Twenty minutes_."

 

*

 

They land with a splash, overshooting the island by about half a mile.

 

Shaking, Jaejoong withdraws his nails from Yoochun's arm.

 

Yoochun's pretty sure he's bleeding kind of profusely but he chooses to focus on hydroplaning to safety.

 

"I'm going to buy a helicopter," Jaejoong babbles as he tumbles out of the cabin, the single engine spluttering ominously, "or the air force," his feet trip over a wave and he goes sprawling into the shallows, faceplanting against shell-peppered sand, "I'm not getting back into that thing, you can't make me, I'll buy an entire country if I have to—"

 

Yoochun should focus on not getting clipped by a very rusty wing or getting beheaded by a stray console panel that probably shouldn't be detached from the plane, but all he seems to notice is Jaejoong's wet shirt clinging to every muscle in his back.

 

Dazed, he jumps down next to him, unsure of his legs or reality, and sinks into the water, ankle-deep.

 

"On the bright side," he tries awkwardly, "no fangirls?"

 

*

 

"They speak English, right."

 

Yoochun pauses, dragging Jaejoong's battered suitcase over a rough patch of gravel.

 

"The person I booked this with did..." he starts carefully, then remembers the pilot sort of didn't speak English or Korean or Japanese or, really, any language not comprised of crude napkin doodles and hook gestures. "Nah. We'll be fine."

 

Miserable, Jaejoong trudges through the jagged pebbles, fancy shoes ruined.

 

"Yeah," he says, shaky. "Yeah. You're right. The whole world speaks English."

 

"Except for you," Yoochun says without thinking.

 

Jaejoong knees him in the ass.

 

*

 

"Of course we speak English," the concierge grins, his chubby cheeks shining in really bad lighting. "Who doesn't in this day and age."

 

Conspicuously, Yoochun casts a glance at Jaejoong.

 

"So our rooms are ready," he powers on in English, relieved.

 

The concierge nods, shuffling through papers. "Your room is ready, yes."

 

"Our _rooms_ ," Yoochun corrects, enunciating.

 

"Your room, yes."

 

Yoochun's chest knots with unease.

 

Junsu's going to die.

 

Yoochun's going to kill him.

 

He's going to just fill Junsu's pockets with catnip and lock him in a cat café for a week and that's going to happen as soon as Yoochun gets off this remote fucking island and—

 

"Yoochunnie."

 

Yoochun groans, turning to face Jaejoong with a defeated little grimace. "We have to—"

 

"Share a room, I know," Jaejoong shrugs and off Yoochun's surprised look, adds, "OUR ALBUM HAD _ROOM_ IN IT, EVEN I KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS—"

 

*

 

"It's... not so bad."

 

Jaejoong spins on his heel, incredulous. "It's a _hut_."

 

"It's better than the plane," Yoochun amends, collapsing onto the bed.

 

Jaejoong tosses himself onto the mattress, rolling sideways into Yoochun, eyes dark and frantic. "I didn't see a single computer." Desperately, he clutches Yoochun's shirt collar. "My phone has no signal." Sweat rolls down his temple, matting his fringe. "Chun-ah, there was a show like this about a bunch of dead people who didn't know they were dead—"

 

Yoochun sits up.

 

He tries not to squirm but it's been for fucking ever since he's shared a room with Jaejoong, alone, unsupervised, off-camera, so he scoots away and pastes his best _temporary hyung_ scowl and says, "Let's just go eat."

 

*

 

They're in the middle of what Yoochun is assuming is dinner, when an elderly woman gracefully passes him a large shallow bowl of what is hopefully 190-proof alcohol laced with medical marijuana.

 

She doesn't exactly speak English and she's dressed like she belongs in a museum, so Yoochun just smiles to indicate he has every intention of getting wasted and happily brings the bowl to his lips.

 

Next to him, Jaejoong narrows his eyes.

 

Shit.

 

Yoochun can't move fast when he's sitting cross-legged on a bamboo-laid floor, wedged between a bunch of similarly-indisposed people, so he relaxes his shoulders, resigned.

 

With a pleased hum, Jaejoong brings his lips to the rim of Yoochun's bowl and tilts it with his chin to take a sip.

 

The old lady raises both eyebrows.

 

"Creepy," Jaejoong mumbles, teeth clinking against the bowl.

 

"Very," Yoochun mouths into the alcohol, trying not to stare directly at either the woman or at Jaejoong's mouth.

 

Awkwardly, Jaejoong slowly leans away, offering their sudden audience an uncomfortable chuckle.

 

The entire room is watching them.

 

Silence stretches.

 

And then a man with a very round face of indeterminable age refills the bowl as though urging them on and Yoochun's vaguely reminded of a Shinto ceremony he saw a million years ago during one of their tours of Japan and—

 

Some woman pushes at Jaejoong's back, bringing him closer.

 

"We're going to die," he tells Yoochun in very formal Korean.

 

Yeah, probably.

 

A creepy sort of _aww_ goes through the room as the bowl is refilled for the third time and Yoochun mentally promises to never drink or go outside of Seoul again.

 

The old woman says something then meets his eyes and chatters away, indicating at the two men by her side and Yoochun just smiles and nods, smiles and nods, nudges Jaejoong to smile and nod, then smiles and nods some more until the room eventually clears out.

 

*

 

They're strolling back to their room after, kicking rocks at huts and lanterns, when Jaejoong abruptly stops and derails.

 

Hands in his pockets, Yoochun sighs and follows.

 

"Help me steal one," Jaejoong breathes out, awed.

 

He's squatting by a flowering bush. There's approximately a hundred kittens poking out of its trimmed branches, eyeing Jaejoong with suspicion.

 

Yoochun sneezes in horror and takes a few steps back.

 

"No, cats don't like you—" he starts as an entire row of kittens backs up, ears flat against their fluffy heads, tails straight and puffy.

 

"What are you talking about," Jaejoong says as one kitten nips at his ankle, "animals _love_ me—"

 

*

 

The concierge greets him with a joyful little hop.

 

"Congratulations."

 

"Thanks," Yoochun says absentmindedly, "we need some antibiotics and maybe four or five stitches."

 

Concerned, the concierge examines Jaejoong bleeding noticeably off in the distance, still very busy trying to lure a kindle of hissing kittens into his arms.

 

"...maybe we'll just need a doctor," Yoochun grunts.

 

"The nearest one is two islands over," the concierge starts helpfully, grabbing for the landline. "I can call our pilot—"

 

"NO," Yoochun interrupts hastily. "No, just... band-aids are fine."

 

Humming pleasantly, the concierge bends behind the counter and roots around for a moment, then slaps a handful of plasters on the counter.

 

Yoochun's pretty sure they fell out of some world war two medical kit but eh.

 

"Thanks."

 

"No problem. And once again, congratulations!"

 

Yoochun wants to let it go.

 

He really wants to just walk away and slap band-aids on Jaejoong's arms and possibly mouth and go to sleep and get air-lifted back to safety, but he pauses, turns back around, and asks stupidly, "What are we congratulating me on?"

 

Hesitant, the concierge blinks. "Your marriage?"

 

The ground beneath Yoochun's feet feels strangely like quicksand. "What."

 

"My grandmother was pretty excited about it," the concierge adds, puffing out his cheeks. "It's been a while since we've had a wedding."

 

...okay.

 

So.

 

No.

 

Wait.

 

"Who did I marry?" Yoochun asks.

 

The concierge pauses, smile fading.

 

"...your girlfriend..." he ventures, gesturing politely at Jaejoong.

 

"Yeah, that's a guy," Yoochun says, trying not to cackle hysterically. He paws for his phone, forgetting there's no signal, because he has to text Junsu, because this is the most hilarious thing to ever happen to—

 

"That's a man?" the concierge asks, pondering. He seems to consult some internal guidebook, then purses his lips in approval, "Yeah, sure, a guy is fine."

 

Uncontrollable laughter threatens to put Yoochun into a coma, so he grabs for the counter, giddy, and manages, "You know that's not legal, right?"

 

Offended, the concierge fixes the guest-book and says, "You completed the ceremony in front of two male witnesses and my grandmother consecrated you with your permission..." His pout deepens, belly jiggling. "After you consummate, it will be legally binding."

 

Yoochun stops laughing.

 

*

 

"What's wrong?"

 

Yoochun locks the door and collapses into the nearest rickety chair, burying his face in his hands.

 

Jaejoong drops to his knees in front of Yoochun with a worried frown. "Yoochunnie?"

 

Yoochun can't decide whether to laugh or cry.

 

"You don't want to have sex with me, right?" he asks in the end because, no, this is actually very hilarious.

 

Jaejoong freezes.

 

"What," he says, voice a little high. "No. Of course not. No. Why. Did Junsu say something—"

 

"Good," Yoochun says. A shit-eating grin stretches his lips. "Because we kinda got married but apparently, it's fine as long as we don't sleep together."

 

Jaejoong blinks.

 

Oh, right, that sentence probably needs _some_ followup.

 

"It's 'cause you couldn't just let me drink on my own," Yoochun explains patiently, pushing off of the chair and stalking across the room to take his watch off. "Technically, this is your fault."

 

Jaejoong is strangely quiet.

 

"Look," Yoochun tells the dented dresser, "I'm sure they're just messing with us."

 

Nothing.

 

Worry creeps up Yoochun's spine so he turns around, injecting as much calm into his tone as possible, "I'll straighten this shit out in the morning, so—"

 

He trails off.

 

Jaejoong is sitting on the floor, shoulders and knees shaking, face flushed, and then he bursts into a fit of laughter, dry, obnoxious ha.ha.has echoing off the hut's walls.

 

Yoochun grins, watching him.

 

But then Jaejoong doesn't stop cackling for, like, five minutes.

 

Which...

 

Fine, getting accidentally married to a dude is funny but it's not _that_ fucking hilarious.

 

Jaejoong can stop laughing any time now.

 

A weird kind of insecurity seeps into Yoochun's bones, deep and hard, so he clears his throat and holds up a forgotten band-aid.

 

Pink and sparkly, Jaejoong gives him one last chuckle, then stretches out his arm and says, "As my wife, you should put it on me."

 

*

 

"THEY DON'T SELL CIGARETTES _OR_ ALCOHOL??"

 

It's 1:00 AM and Yoochun's nicely buzzed but they've gone through their entire stash already and they have, like, two nights and three days left and how the fuck.

 

"I want to go home," Jaejoong demands, shaking Yoochun by the collar, "as my husband, you're obligated to take me home where there is alcohol—"

 

*

 

They're woken up by the door slamming open.

 

"You ordered the survivalist package," the concierge says in English, arms laden with weird stuff.

 

Groggy and slightly hungover, Yoochun tries to sit up but there's sixty kilos of Jae pinning him down. "No, we didn't."

 

Flippant, the concierge drops the stuff at the foot of their bed. "Well, it's the only package we offer..."

 

Squinting through a mounting headache, Yoochun takes in the fishing rods, the canteens, and the knives, and pushes Jaejoong off. "What the hell is this?"

 

"Breakfast," the concierge waves him off, skipping back towards the door, "once you catch it." He clicks the door shut but not before throwing a deafening, "Congratulations on consummating!"  


Yoochun flops back to the mattress with a frustrated growl.

 

*

 

"So," he grins, lazing atop a low oceanfront wall, and asks, "you wanna have a wedding."

 

"No," Jaejoong says calmly, sucking on a popsicle, one knee bent, the sole of his foot curving against the stone edge. "You'll dress like a hobo."

 

Yoochun's grin widens. "If the internet was working I'd update LINE with ' _Kim Jaejoong hates homeless people.'_ "

 

Quietly, Jaejoong makes a small noise of distress, clearly in social network withdrawal. "Kim Jaejoong," he contributes, licks a drop from his thumb, tosses the popsicle at an opportunistic seagull, then frames his hands into an imaginary twitter headline, "~married."

 

Yoochun's heart does a stupid thing.

 

"The fans would riot," he shrugs with a distracted pout. A tall blade of grass is poking out between two cobblestones and a bunch of moss so he yanks it out, root attached. "Overturn cars, set parks on fire, break store windows..."

 

Jaejoong preens, sufficiently complimented.

 

The sun rises higher.

 

Feeling strangely dumb, Yoochun shields his eyes, knocking his sandals against the wall, blade of grass stuck between his fingers.

 

"Kim Jaejoong, married to Park Yoochun," he says slowly, as though trying the sentence out, testing it, running it by the danger sensors in his head. "...yeah, no. They'd drown me in a pool of my own tears."

 

Jaejoong cracks up, dark bangs swept by the breeze. "Not before _your_ fans soaked _me_ in kerosene and tossed me down a volcano."

 

"...we can never marry anyone," Yoochun agrees, ripping the crown and the roots from the culm.

 

"Until we're old and ugly and no one cares anymore," Jaejoong agrees, a little bitterly.

 

Yoochun pauses.

 

On their own, his fingers knot the blade of grass, twisting it into a small loop. "Here."

 

Jaejoong glances down. Then laughs. "Are you... is that a _ring_?"

 

Yoochun shrugs.

 

Jaejoong's grin fades.

 

The sun climbs ever higher, burning the side of Yoochun's neck.

 

The silence stretches.

 

"You gotta put it on me," Jaejoong says softly, jabbing his bare toes into Yoochun's ankle.

 

Yoochun's shorts stick to his thighs.

 

Extra nonchalantly, he rolls the blade of grass on Jaejoong's ring finger and he tries to grin and joke and make fun, but his heart seems made of napalm and his tongue is pure lead—

 

Jaejoong whips out his phone and takes a picture.

 

Yoochun gives him a moment to remember there's no internet. Or signal.

 

"Shit," Jaejoong grumbles.

 

"You getting the shakes yet?" Yoochun asks, amused, veil of heavy tension lifting.

 

"I'm going to buy them a whole internet," Jaejoong vows with an adorably flustered scowl.

 

"Come on," Yoochun says and jumps off the wall. "Let's go catch some breakfast."

 

*

 

It takes them an hour to bait one hook and Jaejoong manages to snag a line on some rocks, so they say fuck it, and scuttle back to the suspicious-looking ice cream cart and trade their live bait for some more popsicles.

 

*

 

It's so hot Yoochun's convinced the earth's fallen out of orbit and is careening into the sun.

 

"I'm going to kill Junsu," he manages, sprawled on the floor, sweating through his boxers.

 

Jaejoong is bent over the bed, hanging upside down and dripping sweat onto the dirty floor. "I'll help."

 

Yoochun sucks in more humid air, distressed. He glances at the large hut window above him and waves a weak hand. "Water."

 

"I don't think there's room service," Jaejoong whines, batting at a mosquito the size of a beer bottle.

 

Mouth parched, Yoochun considers his options.

 

As hilarious and stupid as it is, Jaejoong is now his... wife? husband? so he should totally go get him some iced water.

 

"Chun-ah, bring me some iced water," Jaejoong growls.

 

"No," Yoochun argues, vision blurring as the mosquito switches targets and buzzes by his ear, "you. Me. Bring."

 

"Yoochunnie."

 

"No."

 

"Chun-ah."

 

"No."

 

Jaejoong rolls over on the bed, bare torso sticking to the sheets, swim trunks riding up. "You swore to cherish and obey me~"

 

Instinctively, Yoochun sits up.

 

He means to kick Jaejoong in his stupid sweaty face but instead he finds himself somehow getting up and dragging his feet out of the hut.

 

The sun instantly cooks him to a crisp and the soles of his feet burn on every step and this is fucking ridiculous and how did he get both a naggy wife and a spoiled husband and why didn't he bring any fucking hats—

 

"Oh," the concierge greets him with surprise, "you're alive."

 

"Barely," Yoochun grunts, eyes narrowed. "Ice."

 

Grinning, the concierge swivels around, wearing _two_ fucking polo shirts, and grabs a small bag of ice out of some hidden compartment. "Add it to your bill?"

 

Yoochun's pretty sure this bag of ice will cost him more than a decent family-sized car but whatever, fuck.

 

Dazed, he stumbles back to the hut, bag pressed to his chest.

 

It's half-melted by the time he throws it and himself on the bed next to Jaejoong.

 

"We're going to die here."

 

Jaejoong blinks, eyelids heavy. "Junsu's gonna inherit all our crap, can't die, _won't_ die."

 

Exhausted, Yoochun tears a hole in the plastic bag and slaps a handful of ice cubes in Jaejoong's general direction.

 

Mostly his naked chest.

 

And then Jaejoong just... moans.

 

Yoochun feels his insides turn to ashes.

 

But he's suddenly on alert and so is his entire body and he can't do much except watch the ice melt on contact in the dip of Jaejoong's chest.

 

Drops of condensation spill down his ribs and into the sheets.

 

Fuck.

 

Unthinking, Yoochun bends his head and sucks in a cube off Jaejoong's chest.

 

With a twitch, Jaejoong closes his eyes, squirming.

 

Yoochun takes it all in: the rumpled bed and the taut muscles and the stupid blade of grass still tied around Jaejoong's finger and the tan lines and the matching tattoo glistening with sweat and then he just...

 

...presses his lips to Jaejoong's side, over his ribcage, under the tattoo, and bites down on the ice in his mouth.

 

In response, Jaejoong slides an arm around Yoochun's neck, trapping him in place and—

 

No, nope, fuck.

 

"I gotta go... do something," Yoochun grits out and bolts.

 

*

 

"Hey, does this phone work."

 

The concierge looks up from his magazine, casting a dubious glance at the landline then at his wristwatch. "It's almost nightfall, so... probably."

 

Yoochun theorizes how best to dismember Junsu, then dials his own house number.

 

His mother picks up on the seventh ring.

 

"So... I maybe got accidentally married," he greets.

 

"Who is this."

 

"Mom, I got married."

 

His mom sighs.

 

"Please put Jaejoongie on the phone."

 

*

 

He doesn't return until the sun sets and the temperature drops by twenty degrees.

 

He shuffles into the room with unusually apprehensive reluctance.

 

"Food," Jaejoong complains from the bed, tiny towel wrapped around his waist.

 

" _We have a shower_?" Yoochun gapes.

 

Jaejoong narrows one eye. "I traded your suitcase for one."

 

Yoochun skirts the bed, wary. "Hey, about before—"

 

"Yeah, yeah, heatstroke, I know," Jaejoong waves him off, repeatedly trying to update a blank twitter app.

 

Yoochun frowns.

 

Whatever.

 

It's fine.

 

"So apparently," he starts casually, plopping down next to Jaejoong, "only the first dinner was included with our... plan, so..."

 

*

 

According to the map Yoochun studied for, like, three hours while avoiding Jaejoong, the island is smaller than some of their concert venues, but okay.

 

There's an _x_ on the map, indicating a vendor.

 

His stomach growls.

 

Jaejoong's rumbles in agreement.

 

"Is it still considered street food if there's no street," he asks and a grin tugs at Yoochun's lips.

 

The stand is small and suspiciously inconspicuous but there's grilled meat and fishsticks and dumplings rolled in batter and so maybe Yoochun will just move here.

 

They add a whole tray to their account even though the vendor warns them, in broken English, that the prices go up after nightfall.

 

It's in the middle of devouring a greasy drumstick that Yoochun just stops and glances at Jaejoong's tongue licking at the sauce on his lips, and says, "Feed me."

 

Jaejoong doesn't question it at all, just smiles and brings a kebab-like thing to Yoochun's mouth. "Aah."

 

Yoochun opens wide.

 

Jaejoong's eyes brighten. Predictably, he jerks away, dangling the food just out of reach.

 

"Not this again," Yoochun groans.

 

Jaejoong pauses.

 

The moon dips behind a sudden onslaught of clouds, bouncing darker shadows off both their faces.

 

They're squatting by an illegal cart like children, facing each other and hoarding food on sticks, surrounded by absolutely nothing, wearing unfashionable shorts with messy hair, and Jaejoong kisses Yoochun.

 

Yoochun drops his drumstick.

 

Jaejoong pulls away.

 

He looks as terrified as Yoochun feels, so Yoochun opens his mouth to say something cocky and cute and flippant like _dude_ , _do I look like dinner_ but a tiny shadow zooms past them, pilfering their food.

 

"Puppy," Jaejoong gasps.

 

He tries to pet it but the dog shakes the tray loose, food plonking into the dust, and growls at Jaejoong.

 

"Here, doggy," Jaejoong beckons.

 

The dog bares its teeth, gums pulling back viciously.

 

"No," Yoochun says, exasperated, "animals don't like you, just accept it."

 

Offended, Jaejoong glares at the dog, then at Yoochun. " _You_ like me."

 

Yoochun can't convincingly argue against that.

 

Neither one brings up the kiss.

 

*

 

"Dry my hair."

 

Yoochun yawns. "Am I your mother."

 

"You're my..." Jaejoong starts, then pauses to contemplate. "Wife? Husband? How's this gonna work?"

 

Yoochun dries his hair just to shut him up.

 

*

 

"Lotion."

 

"Do it yourself."

 

"Yoochunnie, I can't reach my back—"

 

"No."

 

"You're _required_ to listen to me—"

 

Yoochun empties a whole thing of suntan lotion down Jaejoong's back.

 

*

 

Apparently, the island is pretty populated during the daytime.

 

With a lot of girls and guys and a handful of sunburnt tourists.

 

All of whom suddenly want to talk to Jaejoong.

 

Yoochun watches from the shallows as they swarm.

 

They probably have no idea who he is but Jaejoong's universally pretty and this is a beach and there's pheromones in suntan lotion or something because what the fuck is this, why is an entire horde of people aggressively hitting on his...

 

On Jaejoong.

 

Yoochun swims further away, scowling into the waves.

 

He's a pretty chill dude. He doesn't get jealous. He's not possessive. He's not stupid or begrudging or controlling.

 

But that's...

 

They can't.

 

He doesn't totally know _why_ they can't but just.

 

No.

 

*

 

He's about half a mile offshore when he realizes he could drown or be eaten by guppies or get kidnapped by pirates.

 

Still unreasonably angry and endlessly frustrated, he decides to go back.

 

He can just... rent a boat and pick up a chick and fix himself and this vacation and his stupid head.

 

*

 

"You don't speak English," Yoochun grins.

 

The girl is tall and pretty, with long dark wavy hair and a nice rack. She smiles back, uncomprehending.

 

"?????" she says, helping him untie a rowboat he's trying to rent. "???"

 

Sure, whatever she said, because Yoochun's still stinging from all that beach bullshit and it feels good to have his ego stroked and if he's lucky, maybe that won't be the only thing getting stroked—

 

"??" the girl says, smile widening.

 

She drops the rope and trails a tanned finger down Yoochun's chest.

 

That's gotta be a universal signal for _how about we suck face_ , so Yoochun grins and glances down.

 

It feels a little weird on some level, wrong like lying or stealing or cheating does, but Yoochun ignores the pang of irrational guilt and brushes a lock of hair off her face.

 

Come on, he's a single dude, unattached and free and totally not in love with some mess of a guy, and he can definitely do this, he can have a normal vacation, like a normal man, with a normal woman—

 

A pair of strong arms wrap around him.

 

A firm chest presses against his back.

 

"Who gets Junsu in the divorce," Jaejoong breathes into his neck, grip tightening.

 

Yoochun's heart backflips.

 

The girl sighs and jerks her thumb at the boat, kicks at the rope in displeasure, then stomps away.

 

Jaejoong doesn't let go.

 

"I feel like this place is messing with us," Yoochun starts, prying Jaejoong off, "so I'll let it go this time, but—"

 

He turns and catches sight of Jaejoong's face.

 

It's dark and sheepish at the same time and his entire body is tense and flushed and Yoochun's probably imagining this but he can virtually see _MINE MINE THIS IS MINE_ stamped on every inch of Jaejoong's smooth skin.

 

_Mine_ is probably radiating off Yoochun like crazy, too.

 

Fuck.

 

"While we're here," Jaejoong says softly, not meeting his eyes, "you can't."

 

So Yoochun doesn't.

 

*

 

The concierge drops by before nightfall to tell them their last dinner is free.

 

Yoochun's dying by the window, curled next to the giant mosquito, watching the slow rise and fall of Jaejoong's chest across the room, so he holds up a careless arm and calls out, "We'll be there in five."

 

Unconcerned, the concierge shuts the door behind him.

 

"We're not going," Jaejoong rasps out, one sweaty arm slung over his face.

 

Dizzy, Yoochun sits up. The breeze ruffles his bangs. "Why not."

 

"Last time, they married us," Jaejoong says without emotion. "Who knows what they'll do to us this time."

 

Yoochun rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Grant us a divorce?"

 

"We're not going."

 

Yoochun has no intention of going.

 

"I'm hungry," he says, deliberately whiny. "I'm going."

 

Jaejoong sits up, eyes dark. "You're not going."

 

"Hungry."

 

"I'll cook."

 

Yoochun bites back a smug, ecstatic grin. "There's nothing to cook."

 

In sync, they both glance at the giant mosquito.

 

The mosquito gives a sharp buzz and drags itself out of the window.

 

*

 

It's best to not think about what they're grilling.

 

They're sitting behind the hut, side by side, watching the fire crackle, and Jaejoong wrinkles his nose and asks, "What time are we leaving?"

 

Absentmindedly, Yoochun stokes the fire. The cinders settle and bright sparks scatter into the night air and it's perfect fucking lighting and the whole thing makes Jaejoong look so stupidly beautiful that Yoochun doesn't ever want to leave.

 

"The plane's gonna be here at six."

 

Jaejoong slumps to the side, burying his nose into the hollow of Yoochun's collarbone. "How long would it take to swim home."

 

Yoochun chuckles and adjusts his hold on the skewer.

 

He... doesn't really need two hands to hold it, right.

 

He just needs one.

 

The other one can... wrap around Jaejoong's shoulder, but only because it has nothing else to do and. Yeah.

 

Jaejoong's lips curve against Yoochun's skin.

 

"When we get back," he says, "I'm going to buy all the internets and cigarettes and alcohols."

 

"Oh, sure, all the alcohols," Yoochun indulges him. His hand curls over Jaejoong's ear, fingers tangling in his hair.

 

And then Jaejoong slams him into the dirt with a low growl.

 

The skewer rolls away.

 

"The plane could crash," Jaejoong says, crawling up Yoochun's body, "and I don't want to die before I get married. Being married is somehow really important to me right now. Chun-ah, what if the plane crashes."

 

Yoochun can't breathe.

 

"Well," he nods, barely coherent enough to string a sentence together, "if we have sex..."

 

"Yeah," Jaejoong breathes out. He runs a shaky hand over Yoochun's forehead, pins his short bangs back, then kisses the top of it and Yoochun just doesn't know what to do with himself.

 

But he knows what to do with Jaejoong.

 

*

 

The plane halts to a stop near a long, flat cliff.

 

"Oh my god," Jaejoong cries, clutching the back of Yoochun's shirt, "why does he have _two_ hook hands now—"

 

Yoochun tries not to look down or up or at the pilot or anywhere, really.

 

Nervously, they board the plane by way of some pirate plank and squish into one corroded seat together.

 

Gallantly, Yoochun tries to strap them in but the seatbelt's not actually attached to anything and, fuck, fuuuck, fu—

 

Jaejoong kisses him during takeoff.

 

The flight seems to last four seconds.

 

*

 

"YOOCHUNNIE, THERE'S SIGNAL."

 

Practically shedding tears, Yoochun unlocks his phone. The signal bar fluctuates wildly as though it doesn't quite know what to do with itself after a prolonged period of torture and deprivation but then it evens out and Jaejoong makes an impatient noise and tries to load twitter and LINE and fifty different apps.

 

Yoochun just calls Junsu.

 

"We got married and it's your fault."

 

There's a long silence on the other end.

 

"...well, that explains the photo hyung just uploaded."

 

Yoochun peeks at Jaejoong's phone.

 

Oh.

 

The grass ring.

 

That's not gonna cause a minor apocalypse or anything.

 

He tries to bat the phone away from Jaejoong, his own phone pressed between cheek and shoulder, but Jaejoong body-slams him into a grimy airport wall, nuzzles his jaw, then keeps frantically pressing send.

 

So Yoochun busies himself by telling Junsu what happened and how it's all his fault and how he has to take responsibility and explain to Jaejoong's parents because Yoochun's mother isn't all that surprised and—

 

"Yeah..." Junsu drawls, annoyed, "you know that can't happen, right."

 

"What."

 

"It's..." Junsu says, a harsh eu kyang kyang seeping into his voice, "what's the word I'm looking for? Oh, right. Impossible? to get married by accident."

 

"What."

 

There's a brief pause.

 

"But it's weird how you both totally just accepted it," Junsu says, tone equal parts accusatory and pleased.

 

"What."

 

"I'm just saying. _I'd_ be calling lawyers and getting annulments and injunctions. Not... bragging."

 

"What."

 

There's another pause and then Junsu laughs so obnoxiously Yoochun hopes he chokes. "Wait, did you make him a ring—"

 

Yoochun's cheeks darken.

 

"I'm hanging up."

 

"Did he coooooook for you—"

 

Yoochun hangs up.

 

*

 

"Pick one."

 

Junsu sighs into a couch cushion.

 

"How'd you get in," he mumbles, despondent.

 

Yoochun proffers a battered globe. "Your cats let us in."

 

Jaejoong drops to his knees by the couch, grabs Junsu's hair, and pulls his face up. "Something nice, okay? Honeymoon-y."

 

Junsu burrows back into the cushion with a groan.

 

"We were gonna stay at your hotel," Yoochun says, stuffing the globe under his arm like a soccer ball, "but apparently, you preemptively banned us?"

 

Junsu offers a muffled snort.

 

"Junsu-yah," Jaejoong whines, letting go of his hair, "pick or we'll steal the cats."

 

Bakira leaps under the couch in protest and Leo's kind of eyeing the window with worry.

 

Annoyed, hair sticking out everywhere, Junsu sits up and waves Yoochun over.

 

"Am I paying for this one, too," he mumbles as Yoochun shoves the globe in his lap.

 

They sandwich him on the couch, looking expectant.

 

"You didn't get us a wedding present, so..."

 

"...because you're not _married_..."

 

Jaejoong spins the globe.

 

With a jaw-dislodging yawn, Junsu palms the thing, fingertips briefly brushing over the hole he caused previously, and says, "Here."

 

The cats scatter.

 

"...is that where vampires are from," Yoochun asks carefully, bending his head closer.

 

Jaejoong meets him halfway across Junsu's lap and examines the location. "Junsu-yah, what if we come back as vampires."

 

Disgusted, Junsu pries them apart. "Well, last time, you came back _married_ , so..."

 

"...you said we weren't married..."

 

"YOU'RE TOTALLY FUCKING MARRIED, YOU'VE BEEN MARRIED SINCE FOREVER, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE—"

 

"Okay," Yoochun nods happily and climbs to his feet. "I guess we gotta go pack."

 

Jaejoong slips off the couch and follows, face scrunched up in concern. "Are you sure it'll be safe to go somewhere like—"

 

"Eh," Yoochun shrugs, a little too flippantly, "I'd go anywhere with you."

 

"...how about going to my musical..."

 

"What are we gonna need," Jaejoong asks, opening the front door. Gently, his hand presses against the small of Yoochun's back, ushering him out. "Holy water?"

 

"...the musical's in two weeks, so there's plenty of time..."

 

"And maybe some garlic."

 

The door shuts behind them.


End file.
